


a big breakfast

by sapphirestylan



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, don't ask too many questions and the whole thing might make sense, i feel like i have to apologize for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24203542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirestylan/pseuds/sapphirestylan
Summary: niall wakes up as a cat and butt-dials harry
Relationships: Niall Horan/Harry Styles
Comments: 5
Kudos: 70
Collections: 1D Animal Fest





	a big breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> this made sense in my head

Niall opens his eyes to blinding sunlight and instantly cringes away from it, rolling over onto his side. The bed is warm, and his body is inexplicably sore, every muscle aching. He swears he can hear the water in the pipes, people talking in the room next door. Paper thin walls, he guesses. Half an hour later, after briefly falling asleep again and then deciding he has to get up, he yawns widely, rolls out of bed, 

and lands on four feet. 

Niall blinks, confused. 

_Four feet._ Four feet? 

Dizzy, he looks down at himself. 

Paws. He has...paws. 

He takes an ungainly step forward, then another, and totters unsteadily to the full length mirror in the hotel room. 

He raises his hand. The cat in the mirror raises its paw. He sits down. The cat in the mirror sits down. He tilts his head, the cat tilts its head, he blinks, the cat blinks. 

Niall’s mouth goes dry. He comes to the horrifying conclusion that he is, in fact, the cat in the mirror. 

The very small brown tabby cat in the mirror. 

He’s a cat. _Oh my God, he’s a cat._ What the fuck. _What the fuck?_

He sits down heavily, trying to think back to last night. His set had been near the end of the festival; it was great, went off without a hitch, the crowd fucking loved him; the party, great, fine; bumping into some girl at the bar who spilled her drink all over him, not so fine, seeing Harry talking to someone across the room and not even bothering to come over and say hello, not great, whatever...

At least his phone is still here, charging on the nightstand beside the bed. He jumps up on it, nearly slipping twice. He settles on his haunches next to it and taps the screen. The facial recognition fails a couple times, and then he enters his passcode, pressing each number as carefully as he can with his paw. 

He goes straight to his contacts, and then hesitates. Who is he supposed to call? Someone who won’t freak out. Someone who always knows what to do, who won’t judge the fact that even as a cat, he’s a little on the smaller side. 

He hits Basil’s number, finally starting to calm down - but instead the list starts scrolling. Swearing under his breath, he tries to stop it, but the fur in between his stupid fucking paw must brush against a number instead, because all of a sudden the screen changes and he’s calling someone he very much does _not fucking want to call._

“Shit,” he hisses, batting the screen with his paw, trying to hit the stupidly small red button. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-” 

_“Niall?”_

Niall freezes with his paw in midair, cold dread washing over him. He swallows heavily, steeling himself for the conversation he’s about to have. A second passes, five. 

“Hello, Harry.” 

There’s a rustle on the other end, a woman’s quiet voice. 

_“Hi. Wasn’t expecting you to call me, I’ll be honest,”_ Harry laughs, tinny and scratchy over the phone. _“What’s up?”_

“Um, I.” 

What the fuck is he supposed to say? He can’t very well tell someone who’s practically a stranger that he’s been turned into a bloody cat, even if they did piss together at some point. A couple of points. Whatever. It’s embarrassing. 

But he also can’t say that he called Harry on accident, because that’s rude and would definitely hurt Harry’s feelings. Niall’s not a dick. 

Harry clears his throat on the other end. Then, _“D’you want to meet up today?”_

Niall chokes on his own saliva in panic and his little body immediately launches into a violent coughing fit. 

_“Niall, are you alright?”_

It takes a minute for him to calm down. “I’m fine,” he croaks out, and clears his throat. “I’m good.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Niall glances around his hotel room, eyes landing on his Hydroflask. He couldn’t possibly lift that to his mouth with his paws, and even if he did, he’d probably end up drenching himself, and then he’d be miserable and wet and cold and even more frustrated than he is right now. 

Maybe if - oh, the _sink!_ He's seen cats on Instagram do it all the time. 

_“Niall, are you sure you’re okay?”_

“What? Yes, I’m fine,” he says distractedly, tail swishing behind him - and the sound of glass shattering fills the room. 

He cranes his neck to look over the edge of the nightstand. The broken pieces of a stout crystal water glass are glittering on the carpet. It must have been behind him. Shit. 

_“Niall??”_

“Uh, I’m alright, Harry, when did you say you wanted to-” 

_“I’m coming up.”_

“What?” Niall practically squeaks, glancing around in panic. “You can’t - that’s not necessary, Harry, really, I’m fine-” 

The line goes dead, the fucking bastard. 

Niall has a precious few minutes to freak out, which he does while holding perfectly still and staring with wide eyes at nothing at all, whiskers twitching periodically like a nervous tic. 

How is he supposed to explain this? He doesn’t even have the answers himself. What if Harry thinks he’s a stray and tries to toss him out the window? No, Harry wouldn’t do that, he’d probably call management and have him removed-

Then he remembers he can still talk. 

_Fine_ , he thinks, _so I’ll explain the situation to him_. 

But what if Harry thinks he’s gone crazy and does something drastic, like kick him in the ribs to see if Niall’s real? 

Before he can argue with himself over that frantic line of thought, there’s a knock at the door. 

_“Niall?”_

He sounds worried, and some vindictive part of him is strangely pleased. 

The handle rattles.

_“Niall, let me in. I just wanna make sure you’re safe.”_

He could just not let him in. But then Harry would break down the door, or something equally dramatic, and Niall’s not especially eager to fork out to cover extra hotel fees. 

“Give me a minute,” Niall calls back, heart rabbiting away in his chest. He has to let him in somehow. 

His eyes fall on the key card lying on the dresser. 

He picks it up gingerly with his teeth, hurries back to the door, and slides it carefully underneath. Harry’s still babbling incessantly. 

“ _Niall, are you there? C’mon, just let me-”_

There’s a sudden pause as Harry must notice the card by his feet. 

_“Niall?”_

A couple of seconds later, the door starts to open, and all of a sudden he realizes it’s too _much_. Harry’s going to see him like this, Harry, who he hasn’t - who he -

He can’t very well slam the door back shut; there’s physical logistics and common courtesy to consider, but what he can do is skitter back inside the room before Harry sees him and dart underneath the bed.

“Niall?” 

Niall watches with round eyes as Harry’s flip flops enter the room. The tattoos on his ankles are fading, he notices. 

Harry comes to a stop near the middle of the room, in between the TV and the bed. He pivots where he stands, twice. 

“Niall?” he calls again, and Niall would be ashamed to admit it, but he’s missed the sound of his name in Harry’s mouth. Just a little bit. 

Harry appears to check the bathroom. He hears the shower curtain pulled back, the cupboard doors opened. Niall rolls his eyes at that. His investigative skills leave something to be desired. 

Finally, Harry crouches next to Niall’s hiding place, probably looking at the broken glass, trying to piece together an explanation in his head. 

And then it happens.

Harry, for some incomprehensible reason, looks underneath the bed. 

For a split second, there's eye contact. Harry’s familiar green eyes meet his feline blue ones, and then Harry shrieks so loud Niall’s ears actually hurt. 

“Oh my God.” 

Niall scuttles further under the bed, in case Harry tries to pull him out. 

“Holy shit,” Harry says. Niall can hear his heartbeat, and it’s thudding away at record speed. 

There’s a minute or two of Harry pacing the room, checking for Niall again. He hears him pick up Niall’s phone. There’s another minute of him mumbling incoherently to himself, and finally, he goes back down on his knees and puts his big head to the floor to look underneath the bed again. 

Niall stares back from the darkness. 

“How’d you get in here?” Harry mumbles wonderingly, a faint smile suddenly appearing on his face. Shit, Niall’s missed that too. More than he thought. “Clever little thing.” 

He has to fight very hard not to preen at that. He didn’t even break in, for fuck’s sake, what’s _wrong_ with him? 

“You don’t happen to know where my friend Niall is, do you?” Harry continues. His back must hurt from the position he’s in, Niall thinks. Then, _why is he talking to a fucking cat?_ “I can’t find him. He called me, for some reason. He never does that.” 

_Because you never picked up the first fifty odd times._

“I can’t find him anywhere. I’m worried.” 

Niall’s whiskers twitch. 

Harry goes silent for a moment, then says, “I’m not going to hurt you, you know. You can come out.” 

As if a cat would _understand_ that. 

Harry lets out a long-suffering sigh, and then his face disappears from sight. Niall’s ears perk at the sound of him unlocking his phone, muttering to himself, and suddenly a strange desperation comes over him like ants crawling over his skin. 

He slinks out from under the bed and hops up onto the mattress. Harry is facing away from him, looking at his phone. Niall peers at his screen - he’s calling someone. _Shit_. 

“Wait,” he says, and Harry _screams,_ whirling around and clutching his phone to his chest. His wide eyes fall to Niall first, then around the room, terrified. 

_“Who said that!”_

“Me.” 

Harry looks at him. His eyes are so big Niall thinks they might just pop right out of his skull. There’s a straight two minutes of silence. 

“I’ve lost it,” Harry whispers in horror, finally, still clutching his chest. “I’ve really fucking lost it this time.” 

“No, you haven’t,” Niall says, “but I can see why you would think that.” 

At that, Harry’s eyes narrow. His mouth parts slightly in shock, inhaling sharply-

_“Niall!?”_

He blinks. “Took you long enough.” 

Harry reaches for him, and Niall hisses violently, pulling back. Then they’re both staring at each other, holding perfectly still. 

“Sorry,” Harry croaks. “I’m afraid I’m not really a cat person.” 

Niall rolls his eyes, and Harry makes a sound like he’s being strangled. His throat bobs, face ashen, and then he sits down heavily on the floor, eyes never leaving cat-Niall. He pinches himself, twice. Niall stares at the red marks on his skin. 

“There’s water on the nightstand, if you like,” he says. “I would get it for you myself, but it would be really difficult, and I’ve had a disturbing morning.” 

“I don’t get it,” Harry says. “This is impossible.” 

“D’you reckon?”

“Shut up,” Harry says. “You can’t be Niall. Niall is-” 

“Human?” 

Harry makes an annoyed noise. “If you’re really Niall, tell me...tell me something no one else would know. Only us.” 

Niall shifts on the mattress, tail curling tightly around him. “Um, we had sex after our last show together.” 

Harry’s face goes through about 900 expressions in a single second, finally settling on resignation. 

“So you really are Niall.” 

“Yup.” 

“What did you do?” 

“What do you mean what did I do? I woke this morning and had a tail. It’s not my bloody fault.” 

“You must have pissed off a witch, or something.” 

“I dunno.” 

“Shit,” Harry says, huffing out a dry laugh. “This is...not how I thought today was gonna go.” 

Niall wrinkles his nose. “How did you think it was going to go, then?” 

Harry glances at him sidelong, cheeks flushed. “I - I dunno. When you called, I thought. I guess I...whatever. Forget it.” 

“No, what?” 

“Thought you were...bored,” Harry says, raising his eyebrows with the last word. 

After that night, Niall had figured it was a one-time thing. Emotions were running high, they were getting sentimental, of course they fell into bed together. But it happened the next time they saw each other, and then the next time, and suddenly they were edging into friends-with-benefits territory, if the benefits only happened once every six to eight months. 

“Harry,” Niall says. His stomach is doing something funny. “I wasn’t...we haven’t even spoken in months, I wouldn’t just - I wasn’t,” he ends lamely. 

Harry just nods, pursing his lips. “Yeah, I figured you’ve got someone else around for that now.” 

Niall pauses, then scoffs. “Yeah, maybe I do.” He glances sharply back at Harry. “What’s it to you?” 

“Nothing.” 

“How’d you know where my room is, anyways?” 

Harry stares at him in disbelief for a moment, hands on his hips, then shakes his head and pushes his hands into his hair. “Jesus Christ, I’m not having this conversation with a _cat_.”

“I’m not a cat!” Niall cries obstinately, getting to his feet. 

Harry whirls on him, eyes wild. “Yes, you _are!”_

Harry’s phone begins to ring, splitting the air with its obnoxious noise. He looks down at it, then to Niall. 

“Well, answer it.” 

Harry does, turning away to speak. 

Niall’s cat ears pick up the conversation easily, though. It’s a woman’s voice - the same one from before - saying she’s leaving. Harry mutters something that sounds like an apology, and hangs up within a minute. 

“Who was that?” Niall asks. 

“What’s it to you?” Harry echoes dryly, and pockets his phone. “And why did you call me in the first place?” 

“It was an accident,” he hisses, arrested with the sudden need to hit him where it hurts. “Why the fuck would I call _you_?” 

Harry looks like he’s been slapped. Niall’s limbs go heavy with regret, watching helplessly as Harry draws a hand across his face, looking suddenly weary. 

“You’re right,” Harry says, and laughs to himself. It’s a horrible noise. “Why the fuck would you call me? You’re right.” 

And then he leaves. Niall doesn’t stop him, because he never does. 

Well - that’s not quite right. He doesn’t know what makes him do it, in the end. Maybe he wants to apologize. Maybe he just doesn’t want to be left alone. Whatever the reason, somehow he ends up in the hotel corridor, chasing Harry down. 

“Harry!” he calls. 

Harry doesn’t respond for a second, and then, seeming to remember that Niall is a cat, spins around. 

“What the _fuck_ are you doing? Get back in the room, someone could see you!” 

The elevator at the end of the hallway dings. Niall, panicking, launches himself at Harry, who catches him out of pure reflex. They stare into each other’s eyes. 

“Quick, put me under your sweatshirt!” he hisses. 

Harry does. It’s stifling under there, and very warm. He feels Harry’s hands braced protectively on top of him. 

There’s someone else in the elevator when they get in, and it must be one of Harry’s crew, because they greet each other politely. 

“Are you feeling ill?” the woman asks. 

Harry shifts, stomach muscles clenching. Niall wonders if he’s doing it on purpose. 

“No, why?” 

“You’re holding your stomach,” she says, and Niall freezes. “And you’re making a funny face.”

“Oh! Just had a big breakfast,” he tells her, and pats his tummy harshly for emphasis. Niall squeaks in surprise. 

Harry clears his throat quickly, too late to cover the noise. The elevator opens, and he gets off hastily, leaving a very bewildered crew member behind. 

Niall wriggles out of Harry’s grip as soon as he steps foot in the room and shakes his fur out like a wet dog. 

“What are you here for?” Harry demands, staring down at him. Niall doesn’t say anything, but his stomach rumbles loudly. He looks down at it, then up at Harry, who’s watching him with a sort of faux-detached curiosity. 

“Are you hungry?” 

Niall nods slowly. 

“Stay here,” Harry tells him, and disappears into the hallway. 

Niall takes the liberty of exploring Harry’s hotel room, jumping from the bed, which reeks of sex, to the nightstand, and then down to the case on the floor, which is lying open, clothes strewn on the floor around it. Harry had always been so messy. It’d gotten on his nerves often enough. 

He begins tidying up the room, dragging shirts that have ended up on the other end of the room to the case and tucking them carefully inside with a clumsy paw. He contemplates trying to fold them, but decides against it. He’s exhausted. 

Something colorful in the case catches his eye, and he struggles to pull it out, teeth sinking into the fabric. He hopes he’s not stretching it out, Harry would kill him. 

When he lays it out on the floor, his heart lurches violently. 

It’s the Eagles t-shirt. The one Harry had bought for Niall and then stolen from him so many times it must have ended up in his possession permanently. It’s probably too small for Harry now, with the way he’s filled out, grown. They’d spent so much time in each other’s pockets that sometimes it comes as a shock to realize they’ve spent just as much time apart. 

Niall wonders why he’s traveling with it. He cranes his neck and sniffs the shirt hesitantly. It smells like Harry. 

He curls up in the middle of the shirt, wraps his tail around himself, and waits for sleep to take him. 

When he wakes up, Harry is standing over him, nudging him with a foot. 

“Good to see you again,” Harry remarks when he blinks blearily up at him. 

Niall frowns. “What?” 

He glances down at himself - and there he is, his human body, intact and perfectly naked. 

He sits up and winces immediately. His head is throbbing and his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth, but things could be worse. He could still be furry. 

“D’you have anything I can-” 

Harry points wordlessly at his case. 

“Thanks.” 

He rifles through the clothes until he finds a pair of sweats that fit, and then pulls on the Eagles t-shirt, just to be annoying. He has no idea what triggered the switch back to his human body, or if he’s going to flip back and forth every fucking time he goes to sleep, but right now he’s not going to complain. 

“D’you want some?” Harry asks once he’s dressed, holding out half of a glazed donut. Stress eating. 

“Um, no thanks.” 

“Thought you said you were hungry. Suit yourself, I guess,” Harry shrugs, and stuffs the entire half in his mouth. 

“About before,” Niall starts. “I didn’t mean what I said.” 

A muscle in Harry’s jaw twitches as he stares at his feet, though that could just be from the effort he’s putting into chewing. 

“Well, it was an accident. That part’s true. But I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” 

“We’re not kids, Niall,” Harry scoffs, mouth half-full, rising from the bed and tossing his napkin into the trash. “My feelings are intact, thanks.” 

_Ouch._

“Right,” he says. He gets to his feet, making to leave. He’s so _stupid_. What did he think would happen, chasing Harry down the hallway like he did? What did he expect? “Well, sorry for taking up so much of your time. See you ar-” 

Harry catches him by the crook of his elbow as he passes, and Niall twists to look at him. The donut’s gone, and he looks uncertain now, hesitant. 

“Niall,” Harry says, and nothing more. Suddenly, he can’t take it any longer. 

Niall kisses him. 

It’s quick, and harsh, and when he pulls away Harry looks like Niall stabbed him. The word _sorry_ has barely left his mouth when Harry’s hands are on his shoulders, pushing him back, and they’re stumbling; he’s against the wall and Harry’s mouth is back on his own where it should be, fingers sinking into Niall’s hair, body pressed flush against his and for some reason all Niall can think is _thank God._

“I’ve missed you so fucking much, you have no idea,” Harry mumbles feverishly into his skin after a minute, mouthing down his neck. “When you called I didn’t even care if you just wanted sex, I wouldn’t have cared, I would have taken it, Niall, I’d take anything you gave me, I swear-” 

Niall pushes him away, stunned. Harry looks wrecked already, mouth bruised red and hair everywhere. 

“What do you mean ‘if you just wanted sex?’” 

Harry licks his lips, suddenly looking nervous. “I just thought - that’s what you always want, isn’t it?” 

“Tell me you’re joking.” 

“What?” 

“Harry, that’s-” Niall exhales, laughing incredulously. He pushes a hand through his hair. “I thought that’s what _you_ wanted. For years.” 

Harry takes a shallow breath, eyes never leaving Niall’s. “So then what did you really want?” 

“Anything you gave me, I suppose,” Niall says. Harry makes a punched-out noise. 

“Since when?” His voice is deathly quiet. 

If there’s ever a time to be honest, Niall reckons it’s now. “It sounds dramatic, but since the day we met, probably.” Harry looks devastated. “Thought you knew,” he says, quieter. “Thought you didn’t want me.” 

“I did. I’ve wanted you for ten years of my life, and I can’t believe I’m only telling you this now. All because you turned into a goddamn cat.” 

Harry presses their foreheads together.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles breathlessly, his hands spreading over Niall’s waist, thumbs pushing against his ribs. “Please don’t leave.” 

“I’m not,” Niall says, promises. “I won’t.” 

(A week later, the hotel security camera footage leaks, and plastered across every tabloid is the headline "HARRY STYLES SMUGGLES STRAY CAT INTO HOTEL?" 

Harry's asked about it so much he has to have the word 'cat' blacklisted from his interviews. Niall laughs so hard he nearly breaks a rib.)


End file.
